Grandmama disregarded that. “If a man is a little older than his wife,” she said, sipping her soup noisily, “then she will obey him the more easily, and there will be peace and happiness in the home. An older wife may be headstrong.” She sipped her soup again. “And on the other hand, she may be so foolish as to allow him to lead, when he has no maturity and no judgment—and certainly no authority. Altogether it will be a disaster, and end in ruin.”
“What complete tarradiddle.” Caroline pushed her soup away and rang the bell for the butler to remove it. “A woman with any sense at all will go entirely her own way, and allow her husband to think it is his. That way they will both be happy, and the best judgment will prevail.” The butler appeared. “Maddock, please serve the next course. I have changed my mind about the soup. Tell Cook it was excellent, if you have to tell her anything at all.”
“Yes ma’am. Will you be taking fish?”
“Yes, please, but only a very small portion.”
“Very good, ma’am.” He looked enquiringly at the old lady. “And for you, ma’am?”
“Of course. There is nothing wrong with me.”
“Yes ma’am.” And he withdrew.
“You should eat properly,” Grandmama said to Caroline before the door was closed. “There is no point thinking of your figure. Elderly women who get scrawny are most unattractive. Necks like turkeys. I’ve seen better things dead on Cook’s bench in the kitchen.”
“Much better,” Caroline snapped. “At least their mouths are shut!”
Grandmama was furious. That remark was totally uncalled for, and unforeseen.
“You never had what one would call delicate manners,” she said viciously. “But you are getting worse. I should be embarrassed to take you into company that mattered.”
Maddock came in and served the fish, then withdrew again.
“I cannot recall your taking me anywhere at all,” Caroline replied. “And you haven’t known anyone that mattered for years.”
“That is the lot of widows,” the old lady said with sudden triumph. “And if you had any dignity or common sense, or idea of your place, neither would you.” She attacked her fish with relish. “And you certainly would not be gallivanting around goodness only knows where, chasing after a man half your age, with an occupation not fit to mention. All decent people who aren’t laughing at your expense are busy feeling pity for you, and for me, because my daughter-in-law is making a complete spectacle of herself.” She sniffed loudly and speared her fish with a fork. “He’ll use you like a common bawd, you know. And then laugh about it to his disreputable friends. You’ll be the subject of saloon bar jibes—and …”
She got no further. Caroline rose from the table and glared at her.
“You are a miserable, selfish old woman with a venomous tongue and a thoroughly dirty mind. I have done nothing, and shall do nothing, to make me the talk of anyone at all, except those like you who have no lives of their own and nothing to talk about but other people’s. You may finish your dinner on your own. I do not wish to dine with you!” And she swept out of the door just as Maddock came in, leaving Grandmama openmouthed and for once taken completely by surprise.
However, when she reached her bedroom Caroline found her eyes pricking with tears and her throat aching so unbearably it was a relief to lock the door and curl up in a heap on the bed and let go of the sobs that were welling up inside her.
It was all true. She was behaving like a fool. She was in love as she had never been before, with a man fifteen years younger than herself, who was socially impossible. That he was impossible for her was so unimportant it did not matter a jot. What hurt like a physical wound was that she would be just as impossible for him.
It was three more days before Caroline screwed up her courage and called upon Charlotte so that they might between them endeavor to close the matter of Kingsley Blaine’s death. Whatever transpired between herself and Joshua Fielding, however hopeless and absurd it was, he was still in danger of being involved once more in suspicion, and all the misery and loss that that would bring.
“We could call on Kathleen O’Neil,” Charlotte suggested, looking at Caroline, her face full of concern.
“Excellent.” Caroline turned away, concealing her gaze in case Charlotte saw too clearly her vulnerability, and the fact that for all the sense of her reasoning, she could not keep either the emotion or the tiny pinpoint of hope away from herself. “We really do need to know a great deal more about Mr. Blaine if we are ever to learn who killed him. And why,” she went on resolutely, “Tamar Macaulay seems so certain it was not her brother. Joshua believes that too—and I do not think it is simply affection which makes him feel so.”
“Good,” Charlotte said with a gentleness not usual in her, in such a pedestrian matter as an afternoon call. “We’ll go today. I must change, of course, and we’ll take luncheon here, if you like.”
“Yes—yes,” Caroline agreed. “And we will think what we shall say.”
“If you like, although I always find plans are of little use, because the other people never say what you intended.”
Mid-afternoon found Charlotte and Caroline alighting from Caroline’s carriage at Prosper Harrimore’s house in Markham Square. They presented Caroline’s card at the door so that Mrs. O’Neil might be informed that they had called upon her, if she would receive them. Then they held a sudden and extremely hasty debate as to how they should account for Caroline’s name being Ellison, while Charlotte’s was Pitt. They concluded the only safe answer would be a widowhood and a second marriage, if they were forced to say anything at all.
A very few moments later the maid returned to say that indeed Mrs. O’Neil would be delighted to receive them, and was in the withdrawing room, where if they would care to, they might join her.
Kathleen O’Neil was not alone, but she welcomed them courteously, and with obvious pleasure, introducing them to the two Misses Fothergill who were also calling. Conversation recommenced and was so trivial that neither Charlotte nor Caroline paid it more than the bare minimum of attention necessary not to make a crass remark. Charlotte noticed that even Kathleen was growing a little glassy eyed.
They were rescued by the arrival of Adah Harrimore, dressed in deep plum-colored wool and looking very dignified. Her rather dour presence seemed to awe the Misses Fothergill, and after a short interval they took their leave. Then Adah herself received a visit from an elderly clergyman, whom she preferred to entertain in private, so she excused herself and repaired to the morning room with him.
“Oh, thank heavens,” Kathleen said with heartfelt relief. “They are very well meaning, but they are so terribly boring!”
“I am afraid some of the kindest people can be very hard work to entertain,” Caroline said with wide eyes. “After my husband died there were so many people, not unlike the Misses Fothergill, who called on me, intending to take me out of my grief—and I suppose in a fashion they did—at least for as long as they were there.” She smiled at Kathleen, and felt a terrible guilt at her duplicity.
“I’m so sorry,” Kathleen said quickly. “Was your loss recent?”
“Oh no. It is several years now, and it was not especially sudden.” Caroline made a mental apology to Edward, but felt less guilt towards him than to Kathleen. In later years they had been reasonably comfortable, but much of the trust had gone. There had been tolerance, and some gradual understanding, but not the closeness she dreamed of. She could not even remember knowing the laughter and the tenderness she knew Charlotte and Pitt shared.
“But I am sure you must have felt it deeply, all the same.” Kathleen was looking at her with sympathy in her eyes. “I lost my first husband in the worst possible circumstances, and I always felt that people like the Misses Fothergill still have it in their minds when they call here. I think that is why they are so stilted. They cannot yet think quite what to say to me. I suppose one can hardly blame them.”